Drowning in sorrow
by cein
Summary: He lies in a hospital bed trying to make sense of it all


Title: Drowning in sorrow  
Character(s): to be revealed  
Pairing(s): none, past canon pairing  
Genre(s): Angst  
Warning(s): general S5 & 6 including Cloak, Dagger, Silent night

A/N: Written for Round 4 of Livejournal comm NCIS_LFWS  
(last fic writer standing)

Challenge was to write a Character whumping fic, preferably with Tony not being the whumpee.  
This story got me voted out.

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You can't help but think about her as you lie in the hospital bed.

Oh you knew it was over, knew it had been over for a long time now. You knew it was your fault that it had ended, but still you'd had a vain hope that things could change, that maybe one day you and she could patch up what had gone wrong in your relationship and get back to the way you'd been. Because regardless of the lies, the deception, you had been happy together, at least for a while.

Then came that final day, when she'd walked out of the N.C.I.S. building and you never saw her again.

When it hit you that she was lost to you forever, you did what any self-respecting guy would do. You went out and got drunk. You figured that maybe some friendly bartender would pour you into a cab at the end of the night, but really after your fifth or was it your sixth drink; you were pretty much past caring.

That's probably why you reacted so uncharacteristically when the argument broke out. You know you should have just ignored the two misogynist drunks sitting beside you when they launched into their diatribe against women in general, but the last look on her face is still searing into your brain and whatever she did in the past, you know you still can't help but care. The sensible part of your brain is telling you that they're not attacking her personally, but it's overruled by the stupid romantic side that tells you that an attack on one woman is an attack on them all, which means it's an attack on her.

So you tell them to shut the hell up, that all women aren't bitches, that they don't know what the hell they're talking about. That's when you discover that while they might not know anything about women, they certainly know plenty about fighting. You also discover that two drunk losers can beat one drunk loser any day of the week, and this pair do. You'd always heard that alcohol numbed the pain, but their fists still hurt when they slam into your body. Her name is the last thing on your lips as you pass out.

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You wake up in the hospital, surrounded by people but completely alone. Your doctor tells you of the bruised ribs, the possible concussion, the stitches he put in your arm where the broken glass cut it. He tells you that it probably won't leave a scar, but he doesn't mention the scar on your heart that she left you with. You didn't need him to tell you any of that, but after he's gone you wish he'd stayed, wished that you weren't still alone. But in a way you've been alone ever since you lost her.

You know that the hours are passing as people come and go, but none of them can understand the pain you're feeling.

And then you hear a noise at the door and you look up and standing there is the person you blame for your pain.

"Ducky told me you were here. What were you thinking, getting involved in a bar room brawl?"

Your reply is scathing and intended to be hurtful. If it weren't for the painkillers swimming round your body, you'd never have thought to speak so harshly, hurling accusations at them, blaming them for the pain you've been feeling.

But then you see their reaction, a compassion and understanding that you never thought you'd see on their face. They sigh heavily and say, "This wasn't how I wanted it to end, believe me. I did what I had to do, but if there'd been any alternative, you know I'd have taken it."

And then your face is wet as the tears flow, and you manage to stammer, "I...I loved her, and now...now she's gone..."

You watch as your visitor sits beside your bed, and the gentle pat on the back of your head is their equivalent of a bear hug in terms of comfort.

"Tell me about her," they say. "Tell me who she really was."

"I loved her, Gibbs, I never told her properly, but I loved her."

"I know Jimmy, I know."

You know that he's telling the truth, you know that he's been where you are right now. Proof if proof were needed that no matter how painful, a broken heart is rarely fatal. You know that it's a lifeline that you'll cling to during the dark times ahead. But right now, all you know is that for now anyway, you're not alone.


End file.
